road the irresponsibility of man to God.

And so he shirked. Shirked, and arrived at this handsome result:

Man is commanded to do so-and-so. It has been ordained from the
beginning of time that some men shan't and others can't.

These are to be blamed: let them be damned.

I enjoy the Colonel very much, and shall enjoy the rest of him with an
obscene delight.

Joe, the whole tribe shout love to you and yours!
MARK.

We have not heard of Joe Goodman since the trying days of '90 and
'91, when he was seeking to promote the fortunes of the type-setting
machine. Goodman, meantime, who had in turn been miner, printer,
publisher, and farmer; had been devoting his energies and genius to
something entirely new: he had been translating the prehistoric
Mayan inscriptions of Yucatan, and with such success that his work
was elaborately published by an association of British scientists.
In due time a copy of this publication came to Clemens, who was full
of admiration of the great achievement.

*****

To J. T. Goodman, in California:

RIVERDALE-ON-THE-HUDSON,
June 13, '02.

DEAR JOE,--I am lost in reverence and admiration! It is now twenty-four
hours that I have been trying to cool down and contemplate with quiet
blood this extraordinary spectacle of energy, industry, perseverance,
pluck, analytical genius, penetration, this irruption of thunders
and fiery splendors from a fair and flowery mountain that nobody had
supposed was a sleeping volcano, but I seem to be as excited as ever.
Yesterday I read as much as half of the book, not understanding a word
but enchanted nevertheless--partly by the wonder of it all, the study,
the erudition, the incredible labor, the modesty, the dignity, the
majestic exclusiveness of the field and its lofty remoteness from things
and contacts sordid and mean and earthy, and partly by the grace and
beauty and limpidity of the book's unsurpassable English. Science,
always great and worshipful, goes often in hodden grey, but you have
clothed her in garments meet for her high degree.

You think you get "poor pay" for your twenty years? No, oh no. You have
lived in a paradise of the intellect whose lightest joys were beyond
the reach of the longest purse in Christendom, you have had daily